Seye to thiselve,
And beet thiself on the brest,
And bidde hym of grace;
For is ne gilt here so gret
That his goodnesse nys moore."
Thanne sat Sleuthe up,
And seyned hym swithe,
And made a vow to-fore God
For his foule sleuthe.
"Shal no Sonday be this seven yer,